


Therapy Session

by Hangmansjoke92



Category: In the Loop (2009), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 13:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18099860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hangmansjoke92/pseuds/Hangmansjoke92
Summary: Imagine the crossest man in Scotland in a couple therapy session.





	Therapy Session

**Author's Note:**

> My boyfriend suggested this story idea after I forced him to watch the best scenes of Jamie.  
> I Just couldn't resist.  
> The female character is the same as in my other works. She is Malcolms niece but she dosen't have the name Tucker, in my world she is the daughter of Malcolm's sister and because of her mums marriage she has another name.  
> I shamelessly stole the names from Doctor Who and I am not ashamed, they are two of my favourite characters of this show and I am so uncreative with names.
> 
> Again, English is not my first language so bear with me. I made Jamies accent stronger this time. I hope I didn't exaggerated.  
> Please feel free to tell me if you liked or hated this work :)

“Whatever ye put into my Whiskey I hope it doesnae cause permanent brain damage, because it had to be the fucking hard-plutonium stuff to get me to agree to this fuckin’ farce,” Jamie grumbles, while sitting on a very uncomfortable chair in the high fashion, sterile looking waiting room of a therapist.

“It was your idea,” she replies, eyes rolling, leafing through a two month old issue of The Sun.

Jamie is skirting around restlessly.” It was a fuckin’ joke, I was so shitfaced, I couldn’t see straight, let alone listen to yer drunkin’ ramblin’. Ye could have asked me to put on a pink tutu and go and get fucked by an elephant with rabies. I would have said yes and when I think about it now, I would prefer to get shagged by said elephant. Better than to sit in this hellhole of that bitch who clearly thinks it is high fashion to put up an unbelievable ugly chrome lamp combined with these stylish designer chairs, which are fuckin’ up my spine right now".

“Well, not everyone thinks posters of Al Jolson and a ratty sofa straight from the garbage dump are fitting accessories to feel nice and cosy,” she gives back boredly.

Red starts to creep up Jamie’s neck and there is a vein pulsing at his temple.  
“There is a line and ye toein’ it at the moment young lady. This poster is a priceless possesion and if ye ever take the piss out of Jolson again I will…”

But she will never find out what devious plan Jamie concocted in his mind for people who dare to insult his favourite musician, because a woman in her late fourties enters the room.  
Jamie closes his mouth and looks like he just walked into his worst tweet wearing, feminist slash librarian nightmare.  
She adjusts her thick glasses and with a smile, that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and a voice, for a woman a bit too deep, she introduces herself.  
“Miss McCrimmon, Mr. MacDonald, wonderful to meet you. My name is Doctor Lethbridge-Stuart, will you please follow me into my office.”  
They get up and follow her, she shakes her head and crunches up her forehead but isn’t able to contain a smile as Jamie pretends to vomit behind the Doctors back.

When they enter behind the Doctor Jamie isn’t surprised, it looks exactly like the typical cliché office of a therapist. A big wooden desk, some plants in ugly pots, a dark carpet and the walls are lined up with shelfs packed with heavy books. He reads titles like “The Handbook of modern Psychoanalysis”, “The inner me” and “Guide to successful relationships”. He hates it immediately.

“Please sit down, can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, water?” Doctor Lethbridge-Stuart asks.

“No thank you, I think we should start right away,” she replies and makes a move to sit in one of the two brown armchairs facing the one in which the Doctor seated herself after the decline of beverages. 

Jamie holds her back. “Woah, stop! Armchairs, really? Where is the couch on which ye fuckin’ up the minds of yer patients? Good old Sigmund wouldn’t be please about yer choice of furniture.”

She rolls her eyes while Doctor Lethbridge-Stuart replies dryly. “Sigmund Freud’s theories and methods are mostly falsified these days, Mr. MacDonald. Besides, in my experience a little distance between the people in my therapy sessions is quite practical. It is easier to voice an opinion with a barrier between the two parties.”

“Ye mean it isn’t so easy to rip out the entrails and throttle each other to death with them, when there is a bit of space between the fronts?” Jamie clarifies, letting go of his girlfriend’s arm. 

“If you want to put it that way,” Lethbridge-Stuart replies calmly.

“So, no hidden agenda here?” he asks. “I mean there is no symbolism? Ye don’ assume that I am a paranoid fucker who sees walls talkin’ and enjoys to brush the fur of a rainbow coloured unicorn when I choose the right one, or that I like to hide behind a palm tree, shootin’ my juice in a coconut while watchin’ naked wee boys on the beach when I choose the left one?”

“I can assure you, there is no greater meaning,” the Doctor says unfazed by Jamie’s colourful language.

Jamie looks a bit more relaxed.  
“Wonderful, can we take a seat then? Do you want to choose between the schizophrenic and the kiddie fiddler?” She looks up at Jamie with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“No, no, sweetheart, go ahead,” he indicates the armchairs.

She sits down in the left one and let Jamie take the chair, he declared as the paranoid one.  
He ignores her self-satisfied grin and leans back into the plush chair with a sigh of contentment.  
“How nice, is there a massage setting? I would enjoy a happy ending,” he smiles smugly.

Doctor Lethbridge-Stuart chooses to ignore his last comment, takes a notepad from a little desk next to her chair.” I will take some notes during our session, would this be a problem for any of you?” she inquires.

“No, of course not,” she replies with a smile.

Jamie, who hates being ignored, nods his head in agreement and then points at the framed diploma on the wall behind the desk. “Ye got your degree from Cambridge?” He sounds disgusted.

The Doctor turns to him.” Yes, I started at Oxford and got my doctorate at Cambridge.”

“Ay, a real Oxbridge twat then”, Jamie sneers.

“Let it go Jamie”, she whispers through her clenched teeth.

“You seem to have reservations against those universities,” the Doctor points out.

“Oh, I wouldnae call it reservations. I just can’t stand posh, wee, upper class tossers. Ma and Da pay, so their snotfaced toddlers can become the next big, amoral lawyer or empty headed Prime Minister, whose shit I have to mop up then”, Jamie goes on.

“Well, if it would reassure you, my parents were working class and I got into Oxford with a scholarship. So, I know what it means to earn something through hard work”, Lethbridge-Stuart explains, for the first time a little taken aback.

Jamie looks disappointed. The Doctor centres herself and takes a quick breath.  
“Now, this is settled then. We should begin. She concentrates on the other woman. “Miss McCrimmon, you made this appointment, can you explain to me what do want as the result of this meeting?”

She quickly looks at Jamie then at the Doctor.” We agreed both to try therapy. I think there are issues we can only work out with help, because we are getting nowhere in our arguments. It would be a success when Jamie realises this too and agrees to go to regular sessions with you.”

Doctor Lethbridge-Stuart nods and looks at Jamie. “Mr. MacDonald, what do you think are these problems your partner mentioned?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I don’ know. I don’ see any problems and even if, I would prefer to solve this in private. A little discussion brings fresh air in a relationship and it mostly ends in angry sex, so no objections from me here”.

She writes down a few words on her notepad. Jamie tries to read it, but they just look like hieroglyphs. There would be a team of highly gifted linguist needed to discern the meaning of that art form on the pad.

“Why would you prefer it to be a private matter?” she asks.  
“Cause it’s our fuckin’ business and we can manage the screamin’ and shoutin’ quite well without a bloody audience. Our neighbours are enough in my opinion. With their big, fat ears pressed against the wall, popcorn in one and their wrinkled cocks in the other hand”, Jamie grumbles.

“So, you are not the only one who’s getting noisy in an argument. Do you fear that the people would think that she is undermining your male authority?” the Doctor continues.

“Oh come on, don’ start with this feminist shit here. I know, I know. You want to fist fuck me with your views Simone fucking Beauvoir. I understand I got a prick, so I am to blame for everything. But let me tell you, I am not a misogyny chauvinist. Yer reproductive organs doesnae tell something about yer intelligence. Ye are allowed to have an opinion if ye have a vagina and ye can spit it in the face of this ugly world. I can assure ye, I like them mouthy, if I didnae I certainly wouldnae picked this angry Frodo here,” he states defensively.

The Doctor contemplates his answer and then pries on. “It seems important to you to point this out. Have you experiences with other powerful woman in your past? What kind of person is your mother?

She starts to snigger besides him and watches the Doctor with a pitiful gaze while Jamie stars to get louder.

“Oh no, let my mother out of this”, he exclaims.

“Why, is that an uncomfortable subject to you?” she continues, not realising that she stepped into dangerous territory.

“No, but if I so much as mention a tiny little hint about likin’ to get tucked in by my mother I am a fucking pervert in yer eyes with…ach…here…what’s it called, when ye want to put your prick in every hole of yer Ma and think yer Da is the fuckin’ enemy. Literally the fuckin’ enemy”, he gesticulates with his hands, in search of the right word.

“You mean the Oedipus complex?” she helps out.

“Yea, that. I can tell ye I don’ have that and I definitely don’ want to fuck my Ma. I don’ have creepy fantasies either about me being a joyful, naked toddler in the bathtub toyin’ with my wee pisser while she’s sittin’ on the toilet seat brushin’ her hair or some shit like that”, he rants on.

“I didn’t suggest any of that. I understand that you had a very strong bond to your mother. Was the relationship a loving one?” the Doctor asks.

“Well, I think so. At some points she had to beat the nonsense out of my skull with a soapy frying pan but I am sure she meant that in a nice way” he says looking at the floor.

“So, your relationship had violent streaks”, Lethbridge-Stuart clarifies.

“She is a pig headed Scottish lass who raised 7 boys without a man and three jobs, violence is a given then I think, or life will run ye over like a blind frog with one leg at the motorway”, he replies defensively.

The Doctor smiles slightly, it seems she reached a conclusion. “Mr. MacDonald, do you think you transfer the detachment, that your mother showed you, on your current relationship?”

“Oh there ye go Mrs. Freud-is a–bloody-idiot. My mother is the problem here, isn’t she? She didnae raised me right?” he starts to get angry again.

“You seem to have adopted her violent nature”, the Doctor points out.

“Whoa, I am not a woman beatin’ arsehole. I’ve punched my fair share of men in some pretty nasty bar fights back home but it isn’t my fault that the miserable fuckin’ Ranger tossers got rude. They should’ve known better than to come into my town and spreadin’ their posh propaganda paroles in my face when I had one or two drinks to many”, Jamie folds his arms in front of him like a petulant child.

“I see, that you have no problems to express your aggression but you struggle with your more private, personal feelings”, Lethbridge-Stuart states.

“I think I can express myself very clearly. I can use a sledgehammer to beat it in the skulls of others or carve it in their chests with a blunt crayon. Preferably a red crayon mixes well with the blood. And when we discussin’ blood, I would prefer it, if ye could stop rumagin’ around in my head. If ye go deeper ye might discover some of my funniest thoughts involvin’ dismemberment and removin’ internal organs. I don’ think ye want to find out more about that sort of emotions. I can rip yer heart out and give it to her, if ye think that would be more romantic. I could put a pink bow around it.”, Jamie tries to put on his scariest smile, his expression screams proud psychopath. 

The Doctor is unfazed of Jamie’s attempt to look threatening and directs her questions to his partner instead. “Isn’t that the problem Miss McCrimmon?”

She startles, surprised that the focus is now on her. “Well, he has a slight problem with attachment and showing emotions that are, well, not violent or aggressive.”

“I am not the only attack dog here. When ye are getting’ started I fear for my dear life”, he interrupts her.

“Oh, not that again”, she throws her arms up in exasperation. “It was one tiny hairdryer and you deserved it you were an insensitive twat. The more you talked the more dump shit came out of your mouth, I just wanted to shut you up”, she defends herself.

“Hairdryer?” the Doctor asks confused.

Jamie leans forward, gesticulating wildly.” Yes, she threw a hairdryer at me, could have flattened my skull if I hadn’t ducked out of the way.”

“You said I looked like a cheap whore trying to get into the pants of the whole team of Motherwell FC”, she shouts angrily.

“Ye had no pants on”, he screams back in frustration

“It’s called tights, they were a bit see through I admit but it was a hen night, no one would’ve cared”.

“Yea, and there were strippers with more clothes on than ye. Yer plan was it to stalk like that through London. Why not print on yer shirt: Free to mug and rape”, Jamie scoffs.

“I can defend myself against sleazy, little fucks, thank you very much. I just failed to fight you of. Must ‘ve been out of my fucking mind”, she tries it with personals insults.

“Well, pardon me; I was worried, it will never happen again. Don’ care if the whole population of hormone driven, blood in their cocks idiots can see yer bloody ovaries”, he pushes on.

“You are being a possessive, patriarchal prick. Should I go behind the stove and knit you a pair of socks ever day?” she yells.

“Please don’t. Yer cookin’ is fucking poisonous. Half of the time I can’t recognise if it’s vegetables or meat on my plate”, he mocks her.

“You are being overdramatic”, she gives back.

“I ate blue soup yesterday. Who on god’s green earth manages to turn chicken soup blue? Was the recipe from Bridget fuckin’ Jones?” he sneers.

“You ungrateful little bastard why you don’t go back eating take out and the microwave shit, see if I care”, she leans back in her chair and looks away.

The Doctor, who was watching this ordeal smiling, clears her throat. “I hope you know how ridiculous you two are behaving.”

Both turn to her and reply simultaneously. “What?”

“That wasn’t criticism, it’s quite lovely and refreshing that you two can show your true feelings for one another in such a creative way”, the Doctor explains.

“You said I have trouble with attachment or such psychological nonsense”, Jamie speaks first.

“Feelings? Oh, I have some feelings I could voice them right now but that words would embarrass even him”, she throws in.

“If you had trouble with attachment, Mr. MacDonald, you wouldn’t sit here and have a shouting match with your partner in front of a total stranger. If you wouldn’t care you would, when I am allowed to use your turn of phrase, tell her to go fuck herself and move on to another, frankly easier person”, Lethbridge-Stuart continues.

“Well, thank you”, Jamie’s a little surprised.

“So, I am the fucking problem here?” she asks outraged. “How wonderful”.

“It’s not about fault, Miss McCrimmon. It’s about communication. Ironic, if you take in consideration that both of you have quite a talent with words.  
What you two have to realise is, that you are genuinely care for one another and the violence and the shouting is just your way to express yourself. There is no right or wrong in a relationship. Hollywood may suggest that but that is hardly the reality.  
You seem both unsure of your partner’s feelings. Obviously you didn’t learn to show love or tenderness and when you realised that’s exactly the feelings you are having you tried to compensate this in the only way you know. You try to scare people off with all your vulgarity and insults but you found someone who is speaking your language and you shouldn’t be afraid of that”, the Doctor goes on.

“The louder and meaner we get, the more we love each other, that is your conclusion?” Jamie asks sceptical.

“That is correct, Mr. MacDonald”, Lethbridge-Stuart replies with an expression of satisfaction on her face.

Jamie looks at his partner. She shrugs her shoulders and looks defeated.

“I am afraid our time is up now but we can discuss this matter further in our next session. You have the time now to think about what I said, we can reflect on that later”, the Doctor lays down her notepad.

Both of them stand up quite quickly, sporting a pained smile. “Yes, thank you very much, we will no longer steal your precious time”, she says and shakes the Doctors hand. 

“Yea, see ye next week, a pleasure”, Jamie throws in.

Doctor Lethbridge-Stuart accompanies them to her office door and bids them goodbye.

After the door closes Jamie looks at her with raised eyebrows. She starts to giggle uncontrollably. “What a fuckload of shit”.

Jamie grins too. “Christ on a bicycle, I thought only the Ministers of this fucked up country can create this much rubbish with words. I am overwhelmed here; she managed to build an entire mountain of solid shit, bigger than the ice fucker who sank the Titanic. 

“So, got the rest of my blue soup at home, hungry?” she asks after another fit of giggles.

“Starving, as long as ye don’ try to heat it with yer hairdryer”, he rubs his head and grins.


End file.
